


Hogwarts Chronicles - The Story Of Draco Malfoy

by koalowo



Series: Hogwarts Chronicles [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Enemies, Gen, Original Character(s), POV Draco Malfoy, POV Harry Potter, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Slow Burn, Slytherins Being Slytherins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:40:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28367043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalowo/pseuds/koalowo
Summary: Rewritten Harry Potter series from Draco Malfoy's perspective (mainly) and Harry Potter (side).➤ With brand new original characters and storyline, that stays true to the Harry Potter series's core concepts and storyline.➤ Romance and romantic relationships will not be the focus of this book, but they will evolve and be elaborated on as the story progresses.BOOK 1 of the Hogwarts Chronicles series (Philosopher's Stone)This work can be found on Wattpad under the username: ✦koalowo✦
Relationships: Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley, Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy (future relationship), Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson & Blaise Zabini, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley (future relationship), Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley (future relationship), Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Pansy Parkinson/Original Character(s) (future relationship), Theodore Nott & Pansy Parkinson & Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott/OriginalCharacter(s), Vincent Crabbe & Gregory Goyle & Draco Malfoy
Series: Hogwarts Chronicles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2077464
Kudos: 7





	1. Disclaimer

> * * *
> 
> _**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the property of their respective owner. (J.K Rowling) The original characters and plot are the property of the authors of this story. The authors are in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended. No relationships are incestual unless expressly stated otherwise. **Contains profanities, violence, mentions of death, and abuse.** The story slightly diverges from canon, and while it stays true to the core premise of Harry Potter, some character arcs and traits are modified. (x)_
> 
> * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow updates, so please be patient. Any feedback is appreciated.


	2. The Trial of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy

**_5th of November 1981_ **

“How do you, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, plead for your crimes under the Dark Lord’s will.” Bartemius Crouch Snr. glared down at the blond man before him, who was dressed a bit too nicely for a trial so serious.

Lucius glanced at his wife, who was sitting in the stands staring intently down at her hands, her mouth a hard line of concern.

His gaze shifted back to the council, searching out those he made sure wouldn’t fail him, speaking more to them than the judge as he gave his well-practiced answer, “Not guilty.”

Crouch’s beady black eyes flashed. He reshuffled the papers, going over the neat black lines of accusations, a vein in his forehead starting to throb. He opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by a frantic start to his left.

“A-Are, are....” The bald, round wizard paused in his panicked stuttering and composed himself, his purple-cloaked chest heaving. “Are you suggesting, then;” - he looked straight ahead in Lucius’s general direction, never quite meeting his, nor his wife’s, eyes - “that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named _Imperiused_ you and forced you into his service against your true will?”

Lucius was careful to keep a straight expression, searching the old wizard’s face for a moment before speaking again. He met the furious eyes of Bartemius Crouch Snr. His mind flew to his son and his wife, to their safety. He imagined what their future would see, now that they would finally be free of pain and suffering and darkness. For the very first time, looking into the eyes and soul of one who wished nothing less than death and madness upon him, he was delighted that the Potter’s brat had rid him of his ringleader.

He had given him a chance. And, on the very precipice between damnation and salvation, Lucius Malfoy would give a performance.

⤝✶⤞

After the fateful night in Godric's Hollow, everything changed.

The Dark Lord was dead, and his followers disappeared overnight.

They were all brought to trials, where they would be imprisoned or killed for the heinous crimes they committed during the First Wizarding War.

The Malfoy family was the first to claim they were under the _Imperius_ curse, and soon after, many others followed. The Death Eater trials were scheduled from November 1981 to early 1982, with the most notable trial of Sirius Black, who was accused of selling out the Potters, happening on the 1st of November 1981.

The young Harry Potter was incredibly famous in the Wizarding World, but in the Muggle world where he was brought to live with his uncle and aunt, he was an ordinary orphan. That would all change when his first letter to Hogwarts would arrive, and Harry Potter - The Boy Who Lived - would finally learn about his heritage.

Draco Malfoy came from one of the noblest families in the entirety of Britain. He was the heir to the Malfoy fortune, so his future was thought to be set in stone. Everybody thought he would follow his father's footsteps; even Draco himself believed it for some time, but then he was presented with a choice. A choice that would not only impact him but his family and everybody he cared about.

That's when the paths of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter crossed.


	3. The Letter

**_8th of October 1987_ **

"Draco! Draco! Where are you?" Crabbe yelled as he was getting closer to little Draco's hiding spot.

Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe were Draco's childhood friends.

Their families knew each other since Draco could remember, so it was not unusual that the three children would spend a lot of time together. The Malfoys would invite both families over at least a few times a year to discuss pureblood politics and the events at the Ministry, which was a great opportunity for the boys to bond.

It was no secret Crabbe and Goyle were not the smartest, but Draco still enjoyed being friends with them. Perhaps it was because he could manipulate them easily, or maybe he just never had any other friends, to begin with. There were not many pureblood families in Britain left, so Draco's choice of friends was quite limited, but the young Malfoy never seemed to be bothered by it. He always got what he wanted. He didn't need friends. He was a proud Malfoy that didn't need anyone.

However, some part of him hoped he would meet other pureblood wizards and witches in Hogwarts; a school he had heard so much about he dreamed about the day he would get his very own letter.

"C'mon Draco! I'm getting bored." Goyle said, and Draco could hear his voice shaking with anger. 

If they didn't find Draco soon enough, Goyle would have a temper tantrum right in the middle of the Malfoy parents' bedroom, and the whole dinner would be ruined.

Draco shuffled a bit in the closet he hid himself in and thought about what he should do next.

Scare. Scare them. That's going to be fun.

He grinned and slowly started opening the bulky wooden closet.

Goyle and Crabbe had their backs turned on him, so he carefully crept beside them and then yelled as loud as he could: "BOO!"

"AAAAAH!" Crabbe and Goyle screamed from the bottom of their lungs and fell to the ground.

Crabbe started tearing up a little bit, while Draco giggled and laughed, proud of his prank.

When tears started to flow down Crabbe's cheeks, Draco suddenly stopped and gave him a worried look.

"Are you alright Crabbe?" Draco asked, not understanding what he did wrong.

Goyle, still shaking, stood up and went up to Crabbe with a confused expression.

Draco followed and stood before Crabbe, who was bawling his eyes out. He kneeled beside him and said: "It's alright Crabbe, it was just me." he paused and quickly added: "I'm sorry."

Crabbe slowly stopped crying and carefully stood up alongside Draco and Goyle.

"Now let's go get some snacks." Draco chirped and went downstairs, seemingly forgetting what happened just a few moments ago.

This was one of the few moments in little Draco's life when he was genuinely sorry for his actions, and while he preferred to be alone, he valued his friends and family more than anything.

⤝✶⤞

**_6th of June 1991_ **

Draco was sitting at the table, glancing at the yellowish paper lying on the table alongside the two other letters addressed to Crabbe and Goyle. The three families were having dinner celebrating Draco's letter arrival. Both Crabbe and Goyle already got theirs a few months prior to Draco, which infuriated him to no end.

But as days went by, he found himself in doubts whether he would fit.

"What's wrong Dear? Are you not hungry?" his Mother asked across the table and gave him a worried look.

Truth be told, he wasn't. He wasn't in the mood for eating. He just wanted to lock himself in his room and read a book to escape this dreary evening.

"No Mother. Everything is fine. I just got lost in my thoughts." Draco replied, and his Mother observed him with her blue eyes for just a brief second before turning to Mrs. Goyle.

She knew he was lying but couldn't do anything about it. His Mother always somehow knew when he was lying. No one else could tell when Draco played with the truth except his dear Mother. She would look at him and study his pale face, then simply state he was lying. He never knew how she did it. Perhaps motherly instinct. He couldn't be sure.

He looked at the meal in front of him and started eating, hoping this dinner would be over. It certainly did not seem like it since his Father had been happily discussing Wizengamot with Mr.Goyle and Mr.Crabbe while his Mother listened to Mrs.Goyle's story about her trip to France.

The Malfoy had origins in France, so his parents organized a yearly trip to Paris or Marseille for the summer holidays. He preferred Marseille because of the sea. There was something soothing and calming about the waves and the beautiful blue colour.

They had a beautiful villa there with a pool and garden filled with exotic plants, trees, and bushes just fifty meters from the water. It was a gift from his Father to Mother for her 30th birthday. _That is so far the biggest gift Father gave Mother, and I think nothing will ever top that._ Draco chuckled.

Crabbe and Goyle were stuffing their mouth with bacon and meat while he took another portion of the salad.

"Dear, have some more. You must eat. You look like a stick!" Mrs.Goyle said with a laugh and gave him a steak from the centre of the dinner table.

Draco froze, and so did his Mother.

Mrs.Goyle was like her son, tall and chubby, with plump red cheeks and little eyes. Draco, on the other hand, was naturally slim, which he got from his parents. He did not need somebody to put food on his plate when he was perfectly capable of doing it himself.

He furiously glanced at his Mother and then back at the food on his plate.

"Maybe he's not very hungry today. I will make sure he doesn't go to sleep starving Agnes." his Mother said firmly and gave Draco a supportive smile.

She was displeased at Mrs.Goyle's behaviour, but she masked it with a fake smile and changed the subject.

This was going to be an eventful dinner.

⤝✶⤞

**_21:27_ **

Flecks of moonlight danced over the duvet, illuminating Draco's pointed face - a pale moon amidst a sea of green. His brow furrowed as he looked up at the canopy, face set determinedly even as conflicting emotions bubbled up inside him.

It was just school! Plain, old, stupid school. So why did his stomach squirm so much when he thought of the letter lying on the table across the room?

The door cracked open, casting a ray of soft yellow light across the floor. His Mother's face appeared in it, smiling at him softly. He met her eyes for a fraction of a second, then looked away, a blush spreading across his cheeks and nose. He had seen the concern in her eyes. Try as he might, his Mother always seemed to know what he was feeling.

"Hello there, my little dragon," she said softly, sitting down on the edge of his bed. She turned to her son, the all-knowing look that all mothers possess gracing her face. "Are you excited for the big day?"

"Of course, I am." Draco said, trying to sound convincing.

He didn't.

Narcissa brushed his hair out of his face, "You'll have Gregory there. And Vincent, too."

Draco sighed through his nose, "I know, Mother. But Crabbe and Goyle aren't going to be the only ones there. There's going to be other people." He picked at a stitch in the duvet absentmindedly. He realized what he was doing and stopped.

_Other people._

_Other kids._

_Other purebloods._

_What will they be like?_

_What if -?_

"Mother?" Draco said, tone laced with worry. "What if I don't fit with the others?"

Narcissa blinked, looking a little shocked at her son's sudden vulnerability for a moment. Her expression softened. "Of course, you will. You have a good background, and everyone finds their kind at Hogwarts."

Draco frowned, confused. "You mean, I'll find other purebloods?"

That was not, in fact, what Narcissa meant. She was reminiscing about her own times at Hogwarts. The fun she and her friends had before they were forced out into the war-ridden world. She hadn't spoken to most of them for half a decade now. She shook herself internally and looked back at her still-befuddled son.

"No, little dragon," she said. "I meant that you'll find others like you, who share your dreams and hobbies and state pf mind. Those who understand you the best and will help you through thick and thin. Perhaps they will share your blood, but they might well not."

Draco scoffed and crossed his arms, "Well, they better. I won't be caught dead fraternising with any mudblood."

The doubts in his heart were quelled, however, and, sensing this, Narcissa kissed him on the brow and bid him goodnight, tucking him in tightly.

Though the door closed behind her and the ray of light was shut, Draco fell asleep to the blinking green stars stuck onto the ceiling some five years previously, the little spots of light following him even as he dreamed.

⤝✶⤞

Narcissa descended the mahogany stairs slowly, not really watching where she was going. Only after leaving Draco's room did everything come crashing down on her. Her baby was leaving. Nine months a year, he would be gone. Would he eat well? Would he make friends? What would happen if he broke something? Got sick? Got sad? Malfoys simply weren't built for that stuff. If only Draco took more after her in that regard...

She almost tripped at the bottom of the staircase, not realizing it had ended. A little snigger sounded from a nearby flowerpot. She threw the pale creature lurking behind it a glare but didn't bother reprimanding it. She was too tired for that.

She walked the rest of the way with no regard to her usual grandeur and flung open the bedroom door, sinking into the bed.

"Hello to you too." Lucius smiled at her from the other side of the bed, eyebrow cocked. In his hands was a book, the one about flimsy little court men and women that she so despised.

"I will never understand why you read that stuff," she said, sitting up next to him.

"And I will never understand why you're so intent on listening to that old radio box," he countered, setting the book aside. "What happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

Narcissa sighed, but she couldn't fight off the warm feeling that spread through her. Even after so many years, he could still tell exactly what she was feeling.

At the end of the bed, the dog gave a snore and rolled about, his feet kicking at the blankets as he dreamed. Narcissa pursed her lips.

"Do you really have to let them in the bed?"

"They're not dirty and don't try to change the subject. You know that doesn't work with me." Lucius took her hand in his and looked her in the eyes.

Curse those grey eyes.

"Draco's going off to school," she said finally. "Our baby's growing up."

Lucius gave a little sigh and tucked his hair - which was at this point at least as long as his wife's - behind his ear. "I still think we should've sent him to Durmstrang. At least he would learn some proper magic there, not the foolish little wand waving and frolicking that goes down at Hogwarts."

Narcissa gave him a warning look. "Lucius, we've talked about this. He's not going to Durmstrang, it's too far. I can hardly bear to send him away as far as Hogwarts. I couldn't send him off merlin knows how far North without as much as a guarantee that he'd be safe. My heart wouldn't take it."

Looking at her and how distressed the whole ordeal made her, Lucius didn't argue any further. Part of him liked the idea that he could simply pop into Hogwarts whenever he wanted to reprimand the staff and, if he was lucky, the old crackpot himself. He was friends with Karkaroff, yes, but the satisfaction wasn't as great, and nor, when it came to it, was the control. Still, he wanted Draco to have the best education. Perhaps when he was older, they could arrange a transfer...

While he had been lost in his thoughts, Narcissa had changed and snuggled up against him. They were both still wide awake and had no intention of going to sleep, but it was a sort of ritual at that point, the simple comfort of each other's company before they had to rest and face the next day.

She reached over him and picked up his book, setting it down in his lap.

"Read to me."

He blinked in confusion, looking quite a lot like his son for a moment. "But you hate it."

"I don't hate your voice, though," she said, the corners of her lips quirking up just a bit.

Lucius snorted, then picked up the book and, true to his wife's wishes, started to read.

Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy fell asleep in each other's arms, with the smell of Amortentia in their noses and a starry sky beyond their windows. 


	4. Bitter Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year 2021!

**_31st of August 1991_ **

Every Hogwarts student was provided with a list of necessary supplies the school required, such as cauldrons, robes, books, and much more. Everything from that list could be bought from a special place called the Diagon Alley, hidden behind a cobblestone wall in a small backyard of Leaky Cauldron. It was a magical place full of shops, and right now, it was filled with future students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and their stressed parents.

The Malfoy family stood before the cobblestone wall, going through the checklist of what needed to be bought.

Lucius Malfoy took out his wand and tapped the individual bricks in a specific pattern of three up and two across from the rubbish bin. The bricks started to arrange themselves, and a few moments after, they formed an archway.

Draco confidently walked through and looked around to see his parents linking arms. His parents had a relationship more affectionate than many couples he had seen, yet they rarely showed their affection in public, and that's what they taught Draco as well.

"I'm going to get money from Gringotts and then acquire your books. While your Mother visits Ollivander, you will go get measurements for your robes Draco." said his Father confidently and gave his son a stern look.

"Yes, Father," Draco said and swiftly headed out to Madam Malkins, paying attention to his parents no more.

He examined the different colored potions and accessories as he made his way to the robe shop, seemingly unaware of who he might meet.

Once he arrived before the shop, he took a second to admire the beautiful robes in the showcase. He opened the door and looked around to see an old lady standing in the corner of the room, cutting fabric with long silver scissors.

She looked at him and said: "Ahhh, Mr. Malfoy, I suppose you are here for your robes, is that correct?"

Draco nodded his head and added: "Father will pay for everything once the robes are finished."

"I am sure he will. Now get on that stand, I have to get your measurements." the old lady replied, and Draco confidently stepped on the wooden stool.

Madam Malkins went to the back of the shop and returned with a young witch, whom he assumed was her daughter. She started taking his measurements when a brunette boy with circular glasses came into the shop.

"Hogwarts, dear?" Madam Malkins said when the boy started to speak. "Got the lot here — another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

She helped him stand on another stood next to Draco and slipped a big black robe over his head. 

Draco examined the boy with a closer look. He could tell he was roughly his age. His brown curls covered his forehead, and his green eyes were looking around the room, observing every small detail as if this was his first visit. He did not recognize the boy. Perhaps he came from a different country.

"Hello," Draco said and looked at the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," said the boy and chuckled.

"My Father's next door buying my books and Mother's up the street looking at wands," Draco said nonchalantly and looked through the shop window on the opposite side of Diagon Alley, where his Mother was standing.

"Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why the first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one, and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Draco chuckled at the thought and smirked.

"Have you got your own broom?"

"No," the boy answered, and Draco gave him a surprised look.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," the boy said again with a hint of confusion on his face.

Draco was confused and a bit disappointed. How does he not play Quidditch?

"I do — Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what House you'll be in yet?" Draco said proudly and smiled at the thought of him playing for Slytherin.

"No," the boy replied, and Draco began getting annoyed at his responses.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family has been — imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Mmm," he mumbled something, and Draco suddenly directed his attention to the big man with ice-cream waving at the boy.

"I say, look at that man!" Draco said confidently and smirked.

Hagrid was standing there, grinning at the boy and pointing at two large ice creams to show he couldn't come in.

"That's Hagrid," said the boy, pleased to know something the other didn't. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," Draco replied with a hint of disappointment in his voice, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"He's the gamekeeper," the boy replied.

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage — lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed." Draco suppressed a laugh and glanced at the giant.

"I think he's brilliant," said the boy coldly.

This caught Draco by surprise. He was taught not to associate with people like Hagrid. They were lesser than him, just like muggle-borns.

"Do you?" Draco replied with a slight sneer. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," said the boy shortly.

_Oh. What a shame._

"Oh, sorry," Draco said with no emotion in his voice. "But they were our kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and wizard if that's what you mean."

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same; they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"

Draco was longing for an answer. He didn't like that he didn't know who this mysterious boy was.

But before the boy could answer, Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, my dear," and the boy, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to Draco, hopped down from the footstool.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said Draco, and his interest shifted to his reflection in the mirror.

A few moments after the boy left, the girl who took Draco's measurements finished, and Draco excitedly jumped from the stool on the ground. Madam Malkin gave him one last look before she disappeared in the back of the shop, and he left.

He looked around, trying to decide where he should go next before noticing his Mother standing before the wand shop looking at various magical items in the showcase.

Draco ran to his mother with a grin, and when he stopped, his mother gave him a small smile.

"Are you ready to get yourself your very own wand Draco?" she asked, and Draco shook his head. 

His mother carefully opened the door to the quiet shop, and they both stepped in, just to be greeted by Ollivander.

The Ollivander family was thought to be Britain's best wandmakers, and every witch and wizard got their wand from them.

"Good afternoon Mrs. Malfoy." an old man said from behind an ample counter.

The whole shop was relatively small. It remained Draco of a library since it was peacefully quiet. The bookshelves that would typically be filled with books were stacked with small rectangular boxes of different colors, each containing a magic wand. One of them was waiting for Draco, and perhaps that is what filled Draco with excitement.

"Good afternoon Ollivander." his Mother said calmly and pointed to her son. "My son needs a wand."

The old man looked at Draco with curiosity and then slowly nodded his head.

"I'm sure I will find something that would match young Mr. Malfoy," he said and disappeared behind the old shelves.

His Mother squeezed Draco's hand, and Draco could not stop smiling at the idea of him having his first-ever wand in just a few moments.

After a few minutes of complete silence in the shop, Ollivander returned with a small red box and took the wand out of it. It was a long wall with a dark, twisted handle and light brown end.

"This one might fit. Cherry wood, unicorn hair, 8 inches with no flexibility." Ollivander said as he gave it to Draco, who looked proudly at what he assumed would be his new wand.

"Well then Draco, try it." his Mother encouraged, and Draco proudly waved his wand around until Ollivander snatched it right away from his pale hand.

Draco looked at him with anger and prepared to say something before Ollivander cut him off: "That's not the one."

Draco had a confused expression on his face, and while Ollivander went looking for another wand, his mother explained: "Ollivander might try a few wands before he finally finds the one. Don't worry, he will find one sooner or later."

He brought two more wands to Draco before he finally found a perfect match.

"Ten inches, made of hawthorn wood, slightly springy with unicorn hair core," Ollivander said and slowly handed over the wand to Draco.

When Draco took the wand into his hand, an unfamiliar warmth spread through his body and when he waved it around, small green sparkles reminiscing fireworks appeared. _This is the one._

His Mother smiled and with pride paid Ollivander seven Galleons, while Draco excitedly waved the wand around, and even Ollivander himself seemed happy with himself.

"Have a nice day." his Mother said before exiting the shop with Draco.

Draco started blabbering something about magic and spells while his Mother led him to Flourish and Blotts, a bookstore located on Diagon Alley's Northside. It was filled to the ceiling with books of different kinds, so every wizard could find precisely what they needed.

As they walked through Diagon Alley, Draco suddenly saw his father standing on the side with a pile of books. _My books!_

His Mother seemed to notice him as well.

"Father! Father! Look what I've got!" Draco said as he approached his Father, waving his wand around him.

Lucius Malfoy would have scolded Draco for behaving so informally under normal circumstances, but he was happy to see his son with his first wand. He loved him, even if it didn't seem like it.

"That's great, son. I've got all the books from the list, so I think we only need to buy a telescope, cauldron, and a set of brass scales." said his Father.

"Can we go to buy some new Quidditch supplies, Father? I desperately need a new broom, and they just released Nimbus 2000." Draco pleaded, hoping to convince his parents.

His Father's eyes lighted up, and he said: "Why not."

"Lucius don't you think Draco has enough of Quidditch equipment?" his Mother protested as she didn't seem too thrilled with the idea of visiting a Quidditch shop, which was on the Southside of Diagon Alley.

"Come on, Cissy, there's never enough of Quidditch. Besides, Draco has to train to get to the Slytherin team." Lucius said, and his wife didn't want to argue more.

"Fine. I will go buy the rest from the list, and you two can go buy a new broom." Draco giggled and gave her Mother a happy smile. " _However_ , once I get back, we will be leaving."

"Don't worry darling." his Father said and headed out with Draco to buy a new broom.

Both Malfoys made their way to a big shop filled with Quidditch equipment and stopped before the showcase displaying a majestic Nimbus 2000. The fastest broom at the moment.

"I have to have it," Draco said and looked at his Father, who looked just as impressed as he was.

"Well then, you shall get it." his Father replied and opened the door to the store. "And we should get you some new equipment while we're here."

Once inside the shop, Draco immediately went to the broom and picked it up. He looked around and examined everything the shop had to offer.

There were shelves with leather gloves in the corners, while in the center, there was a counter behind which stood a petite witch with blonde hair tied in a ponytail. On the other side of the shop, there were multiple Quidditch suitcases with Golden Snitches, Quaffles and Bludgers and signed uniforms of famous Quidditch players, including Victor Krum.

His father alongside another witch was looking at Beater's Bats, which were stored next to the gloves.

Draco made his way to his father and proceeded to ask him: "Father, I met a boy at Madam Malkins. He was roughly the same age as me, and he had these round glasses and brown curly hair. I never had the chance to ask him about his surname. Do you know who he could be?"

His father, taken aback by this question, looked at Draco. "Do you know who his parents were?"

Draco shook his head and replied: "He said his parents were dead."

"Oh. Well, in that case, I cannot help you. I'm sure you will learn who he is in Hogwarts son. Now let's get you this broom." he said and pointed at the Nimbus Draco was holding.

"Yes, Father."

Deep down, Lucius Malfoy thought of a name, but he didn't say it in front of his son. He could have been wrong, and he didn't want to risk his son asking other questions about the infamous Harry Potter and why they called him "The-Boy-Who-Lived."

After his Father paid five-hundred Galleons for all the new equipment, they headed out. With the network of 1.6 billion USD, he could afford to spoil his son to no end, so mere five-hundred Galleons didn't mean anything.

His mother was already standing in front of the shop with multiple bags of magic accessories and equipment. "That's a bit more than a broom, isn't it?" his Mother said and raised an eyebrow.

"Looks like we got carried away a bit, Cissy." Lucius chuckled.

"Let's go," Narcissa said, and they headed back to the Manor.

⤝✶⤞

After arriving at the Malfoy Manor, which was located in Wiltshire, England, Narcissa ordered the house elves to prepare something special for dinner as it was the last dinner Draco would eat before heading to Hogwarts. The Manor was very luxurious, with massive gardens enveloping it that provided shelter to many kinds of fauna and flora.

"Can we try the new broom Father?" Draco said once they arrived, and Lucius agreed.

"Just be careful." Narcissa said, and Draco nodded his head.

Both Malfoys went to the back gardens, where Lucius taught Draco Quidditch when he was younger. He went for his own broom while Draco started unpacking the Quaffle and Beater's Bat. 

"Are you ready, son?" his father said from behind, and Draco swiftly turned around.

"Yes."

"Well, then let's begin." Lucius said and hopped on his own broom; an older model of Nimbus 2000, which was perfectly suitable for the purposes of teaching his 11-year-old son Quidditch. He took the Quaffle and the Beater's Bat and waited for Draco to get on his new broom.

Once Draco was on his Nimbus 2000, his Father threw the Quaffle high in the air and struck it with the Beater's Bat as fast as he could.

Draco swiftly dodged the Quaffle, and visibly proud, he started flying around the Manor.

His Father was keeping a close eye on him, so he wouldn't fall. After a while, he took a small Golden Snitch from the suitcase and threw it in the air. The Golden Snitch immediately activated and started flying around.

Draco noticed the Snitch and turned his broom in its direction. He focused on the Snitch and flew to catch it. The Snitch noticed Draco and took a sharp turn, which confused Draco a bit, but he persisted. He chased the Snitch, slowly tying the space between him and the little golden ball.

His Father observed him the whole time as he slowly flew in small circles a few meters above the ground. It reminded him of his Hogwarts years when he played for the Slytherin team as a Seeker. He wanted Draco to do the same. Playing for the team is an honor, and only the best can apply to be the seeker. Draco knew that very well.

"Faster Draco! You have a new faster broom, so use it for your benefit!" he shouted, as he started to get annoyed, he didn't catch the Snitch yet.

Draco heard him and went even faster. He pressed his feet against the wood and directed all his attention to the Snitch. _Come on. Come on. You can do this._

The Golden Snitch made a sharp turn to the right, and so did Draco.

He stretched out his hand and grabbed the Golden Snitch, happiness and pride filling his heart.

His Father smirked and flew to Draco, gently patting him on the back.

"Well done, but next time, be faster. Speed and precision are everything in Quidditch. Don't forget that, son."

"I won't." Draco said, and they both flew down to the ground, where his mother was waiting for them.

"I hope you enjoyed yourselves. Dinner's ready." she said, and both Malfoys grinned. 


	5. Arrival to Hogwarts

**_1_ _st_ _of September 1991_ **

_10:20 AM_

Harry sat staring out of the window, watching London pass by as the Dursley’s car hurtled at the shocking speed of five miles an hour down the main road towards King’s Cross Station. Mr. Dursley drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, glaring at the cars in front of them. 

Harry wasn’t even bothered at how obviously his uncle wanted to get rid of him; he was too excited for that. He peered around the front seats anxiously, ignoring Dudley’s whimper and attempt to lean away from him. 

He wanted desperately to ask how much longer the car ride was going to take, but knew he was lucky enough to be getting a ride there in the first place and so kept his mouth firmly shut. 

Hedwig squawked in her cage, flapping her wings about. A few feathers fell to the ground of the pristine car. 

The commotion made Petunia turn around. She caught sight of the feathers and pursed her lips, giving Harry the stink eye, but didn’t say anything, turning stiffly back around. 

_Odd_ , thought Harry but didn’t comment on it. The relationship he had had with the Dursleys since his return from Diagon alley had been quite an improvement to the usual regime and he preferred it stayed that way. Being invisible was, for him at least, much better than the alternative. 

Ten minutes later, at half-past ten, they reached King’s Cross, and the car ground to a halt. 

Vernon hopped out of the car without a word and threw Harry’s trunk on a trolley, rolling it into the station as Harry scrambled to follow him, struggling to wrestle Hedwig through the door and stumbling down the road, almost unable to see where he was going over her cage. 

He was about to remark to himself how strangely kind all the Dursleys were being that day, when Vernon came to a dead stop, Harry almost crashing into him. Vernon’s face was twisted into a nasty smile, his eyes dancing with glee as he faced the platforms. 

“Well, there you are, boy,” he said. “Platform nine – platform ten. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don’t seem to have built it yet, do they?” 

Harry’s spirits sank instantly. He was right, of course. There was nothing between platform nine and platform ten. Just a brick wall. 

Vernon smirked even nastily than before, “Have a good term.” 

The Dursleys drove away, laughing, and Harry was left standing rather stupidly before the platforms, feeling the sort of numbness and emptiness one felt before reality sunk in. 

Hedwig kept making a racket, flapping her wings and clawing at the bars of her cage. The looks that her behavior attracted made Harry feel strangely vulnerable, like a spectacle at a circus, and standing around with his owl and trunk suddenly felt very silly. 

Trying to make himself seem busy, he started towards the platforms, pushing the trolley with Hedwig’s cage perched on top of his trunk along in front of him. 

His eyes roved the crowds for guards or really anyone else that could help him, and his heart leaped when he saw one leaning against a bin. 

“Sir,” he said, coming up to him. “Excuse me, do you know where the train that goes to Hogwarts stops?” 

The guard looked over at him, an apprehensive expression on his face, “Excuse me? Hogwarts?” 

Harry’s spirits dampened, “Yes.” 

“I’ve never heard of any place by that name. And I’m damn well sure no train goes there from here.” He paused and looked Harry over, as if just realizing that this eleven-year-old child was alone on a station trying to get to a place that, as far as he knew, didn’t exist. Apparently re-evaluating the situation, he said, “You could get a train that could get you near it, though, I’m sure. Whereabouts is it? Somewhere Northward?” 

Harry didn’t know. “Um....” 

The guard started to look irritated, “I can’t help you if you don’t know where it is.” 

He turned to go. 

“Wait!” Harry jogged back up to him, almost tripping him on his trolley. “Can you tell me what train goes at eleven?” 

The guard dusted himself off and turned back away from him, “There isn’t one. Go home, kid.” 

Harry just about heard him muttering about ‘bloody time-wasters' before his uniform got lost in the crowd. 

He was just about ready to panic. Hagrid must have forgotten to tell him the details of how to get to the platform – a password, or a tap on a specific brick that would help him find it. Now, though, he had no way of contacting him. Just an owl, a trunk, and a bunch of wizard money. 

“– packed with muggles, of course –” 

_Muggles_. 

Harry whirled around. A group of people – four boys, one small girl, and a rather plump woman who must have been their Mother, all with flaming red hair – were making their way through the crowd. The boys had trunks. And an _owl_. 

Harry followed them, barrelling through the crowd and, when they finally came to a stop, so did he. 

“Now, what’s the platform number?” the woman said. 

The girl piped up obediently, “Nine and three-quarters! Mum, can’t I go...” 

“You’re not old enough, Ginny,” the woman interrupted her, squeezing her hand with her own, “now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go first.” 

The oldest boy marched straight towards the divide between platforms nine and ten. A large crowd of tourists bustled by and by the time they had cleared away, the boy had disappeared. 

_What the –_

“Fred, you next,” the plump woman said. 

The boy whom she was gesturing to shook his head, “I’m not Fred, I’m George. Honestly, woman, call yourself our Mother? Can’t you _tell_ I’m George?” 

“Sorry, George, dear.” 

“Only joking, I am Fred.” And he vanished beyond the barrier, his twin following right behind him. Soon enough, the only people of the group left standing on the platform were the plump woman, the young girl (who was looking, rather disgruntled, down at her shoes), and the last and youngest boy. He must have been about Harry’s age, but he was tall and thin and gangling, his awkward posture accentuated by his big hands and long nose. 

There was nothing else for it. 

Heart thumping in his chest, Harry came closer to the remaining three. 

“Excuse me,” he said, catching the woman’s eye. 

Noticing him immediately, she sent a warm smile his way and looked down at him with kind brown eyes. 

“Hullo, dear. First time at Hogwarts? Ron’s new too,” she said, pointing to the gangly boy, Ron, that was. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and smiled at Harry with a smile, not unlike his Mother’s. 

“Yes,” Harry replied. “The thing is – the thing is, I don’t know how to –’ He gestured around uncertainly, flapping his arms a little. 

The woman understood immediately, “How to get to the platform?” 

Harry nodded. 

“Not to worry,” she said. “All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don’t stop and don’t be scared you’ll crash into it, that’s very important. Best to do it at a bit of a run if you’re nervous. Go on, go now before Ron.” 

“Er – OK.” 

Trying not to think about what would happen if the barrier didn’t let him through, Harry started towards it, going gradually faster and faster, closing his eyes shut as he neared it. 

_I’m going to crash. I’m going to crash. I’m going to..._

The impact never came. He opened his eyes not to a solid brick wall but to a scarlet steam engine, smoke billowing all around it. 

Students were leaning out of the windows to talk to their families. He saw kids carrying cats, rats, toads, and even owls like him. One blond round-faced boy was complaining to his grandMother about a lost toad. 

He found an empty compartment near the very end of the train and, plopping Hedwig’s cage safely inside first, turned to his trunk, gritting his teeth as he struggled to lift it up the stairs. He was starting to think that buying all those rolls of parchment and quills and inkwells had been a bad idea. He should’ve just gotten a notebook and been done with it. God knew the trunk would’ve lost a few kilos. 

“Want a hand?” It was one of the red-headed twins. Fred or George, he remembered. 

“Yes, please.” 

“Oy, Fred! C’mere and help!” 

Soon, the trunk was tucked safely in the compartment and Harry swiped a hand over his sweaty forehead, pushing the curls of his fringe out of his face. 

“Thanks,” he said. 

But the twins were suddenly very interested in his forehead. 

“What’s that?” one of them asked, pointing – pointing directly at Harry’s scar. 

“Blimey,” said the other. “Are you –?” 

“He _is_ ,” the first interrupted him. “Aren’t you?” he added to Harry, cocking an eyebrow. 

Harry was confused, “What?” 

“ _Harry Potter_ ,” they chorused. 

“Oh, him,” Harry flushed – he had completely forgotten that he was supposed to be famous in the Wizarding World. “I mean, yes, I am.” 

“Fred? George? Are you there?” The plump woman’s head was swimming about in the crowd. She was clearly craning her neck to look for her sons. 

“Coming, mum.” The twins looked at Harry one last time, then left the compartment and disappeared into the mass of teary-eyed parents and excited children. 

Half-hidden by the compartment window, his hearing marred by the glass and wood, Harry could still make out what the red-headed family was saying. With nothing else to do, he listened and smiled at their interactions. 

“Ron, you’ve got something on your nose.” 

“ _Mum_ – geroff.” 

“Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?” 

“Shut up.” 

“Where’s Percy?” 

Harry could almost see the woman craning her head about again. 

“He’s coming now.” 

The eldest boy came striding into sight, already in his school robes, a shiny red badge with the letter _P_ on it in gold pinned to his chest. 

“Can’t stay long, Mother. I’m upfront, the Prefects have got two compartments to themselves –” 

“Oh, are you a _Prefect_ , Percy? You should have said something, we had no idea.” 

The twins kept mocking him until finally, the older boy snapped back at them. Their Mother chided them and congratulated Percy one last time before he left. Then she turned to the twins. 

“Now, you two – this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you’ve – you’ve blown up a toilet or –” 

“Blown up a toilet? We’ve never blown up a toilet.” 

“Great idea, though, thanks, Mum.” 

“It’s not _funny_. And look after Ron.” 

“Don’t worry, ickle Ronniekins is safe with us.” 

“Shut up.” 

The twins laughed. Then... 

“Hey, Mum, guess what? Guess who we’ve just met on the train?” 

“You know that black-haired boy who was near us in the station? Know who he is?” 

“Who?” 

“ _Harry Potter!”_

The little girl piped up ecstatically, “Oh, Mum, can I go on the train and see him, Mum, oh please....” 

“You’ve already seen him, Ginny, and the poor boy isn’t something you goggle at in the zoo. Is he really, Fred? How do you know?” 

“Asked him. Saw his scar. It’s really there – like lightning.” 

“Poor _dear_ , no wonder he was alone. I wondered. He was ever so polite when he asked how to get on to the platform.” 

“Never mind that, do you think he remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?” 

“I forbid you to ask him, Fred. No, don’t you dare. As though he needs reminding of that on his first day of school.” 

Harry’s head buzzed, and he only just registered the train’s whistle and the red-headed family’s final goodbyes, the twins promising to send their teary sister a Hogwarts toilet seat for Christmas. 

The train began to move, and Harry sat back, quite glad nobody else had sat down in the compartment with him. He didn’t need anyone else to start gawking at him as Fred and George had. 

Just five seconds later, the compartment door slid open. It was the youngest red-headed boy, looking at Harry warily as if worried he might involuntarily make him uncomfortable somehow. 

“Anyone sitting there?” he said, pointing across from Harry. “Everywhere else is full.” 

Harry smiled and shook his head. 

⤝✶⤞

Three boys shouldered their way through the crowd of parents towards the train. Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle were on their way to their first journey from platform nine and three-quarters. 

Draco had just about managed to shake his Mother off two minutes prior and said goodbye to both her and his stoic-looking Father rather curtly, marching away towards the Crabbes and Goyles to tell the other two boys to hurry it up. Now he – his childhood friends flanking him like bodyguards, climbed into a somewhat empty compartment somewhere near the middle of the train, glaring at some fellow first-years to scare them off first. 

He had chosen this compartment and, from now until whenever he decided otherwise, it was his. 

There was only one other boy in the compartment, with dark brown skin and deep black eyes, his hair cut close to his skull. He was flipping through a magazine and looked up only briefly to nod at Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle, before returning to his browsing. 

Crabbe threw himself into the seat beside the door and Goyle sat across from him, his wide body making the unfamiliar boy crunch his nose up in irritation and sidle further along, closer to the window. 

Draco propped himself across from him. He stretched his arm out and looked at him in expectation. 

_“_ _Always offer to shake people’s hands when you meet them,"_ his Father’s voice echoed in his head. _“_ _It makes them feel important.”_

And everyone liked feeling important. 

The boy looked up at Draco’s hand, lifted an eyebrow, and looked back down at his magazine. Draco flushed in embarrassment, but composed himself quickly, lowering his hand and wiping his palm on his robes. 

He took a deep breath and tried for a different approach. “Hello, a first-year too?” 

The boy looked around and, when he saw that neither Crabbe nor Goyle were reacting (Crabbe was watching the people walking past the sliding doors and Goyle had pulled out a snack his Mother had made for him; steak included, of course), answered, “Yes.” 

“My parents insisted on dropping me off. I would have gone alone, I’m not a baby, but Mother would have had a fit,” Draco continued, rolling his eyes. “I’m Draco Malfoy, by the way.” 

“Blaise Zabini. I came with my Mother, too.” 

“What about your Father?” 

“He’s dead.” 

_What is it with everyone’s parents being dead?_

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Draco said with about as much feeling as he’d offered that specky boy in Madam Malkin’s. 

Blaise scoffed, “Don’t be, he wasn’t that great anyway.” 

“Oh, well that’s alright, then,” Draco said, with significantly more intrigue than before. He hadn’t really felt like listening to someone’s sob story anyway. “Zabini is a wizard name, isn’t it?” he added. 

“It’s my Mother’s name, and she’s a witch, so I guess so, yeah.” 

“Not part of the sacred 28, though, is it?” Draco already knew the answer to that, of course. He had the list near memorized. 

“I dunno. I don’t really care,” Blaise said, shrugging. “We’re half-bloods, so I guess not, but I don’t reckon it would matter either way.” 

Draco hesitated. He didn’t agree at all. The old pureblood families, like his, were the source of all wizarding traditions, most of their laws, and almost all their oldest spells and spell-casting techniques. So of course, it mattered. All that genius, all that talent that had built the Wizarding World up from nothing – it was in their descendants’ blood. In his blood. No half-blood could ever measure up to it. No muggle-born would even come close. 

Muggleborns shouldn't be given the right to an education in the first place. It was a waste of profit, of resources. 

_I guess_ _half-bloods are_ _tolerable._

“I suppose you lot are still okay,” he said finally, mirroring Blaise’s shrug. “I’d be worried if you were muggle-born. Never catch up then, would you? Coming in like that with all those backward traditions and opinions.” 

“I guess so.” Blaise didn’t look as interested anymore and his gaze shifted over to the window at the rolling countryside. 

“Anything from the trolley, dears?” The trolley lady had come up to their compartment. Crabbe and Goyle jumped up immediately, buying everything from Blueberry Cauldrons to Liquorice Wands. Even Blaise bought a box of sugar mice. 

Goyle looked back at Draco. “Aren’t you getting anything?” 

Draco raised his eyebrows at him, “You lot look like you’re buying enough for half of Africa, I don’t think we’ll be needing anymore. Unless you want to drown in Chocolate Frogs, that is.” 

They spent another good few hours eating up all their sweets and talking among themselves, Draco boasting his Quidditch skills and singing the praises of the Slytherin house, reducing the other houses to mere caricatures, while Crabbe laughed uproariously and Goyle stuffed his face with pumpkin pasties, giving his input between individual chews and bites. Blaise listened quietly, mostly, giving snarky comments whenever he had the chance to do so. 

Towards the end of the journey, everyone calmed down a bit, pulling their school robes on in anticipation of their arrival. 

“It’s weird.” 

Draco fixated on the speaker, Crabbe, who was frowning, looking up and down the corridor, “What do you mean?” 

“People are forming groups out in the corridor. Why aren’t they in compartments?” 

Blaise snorted, a headless sugar mouse in his hand, “Haven’t you heard?” 

“Heard what?” Draco said, frowning. He didn’t like how vague Blaise’s statement was. 

“Harry Potter’s coming to Hogwarts.” 

The air stilled. Crabbe and Goyle gaped at him, Goyle with half a Chocolate Frog dangling out of his mouth. 

Draco blinked, “Harry Potter? On the train?” 

He could hardly believe what he was hearing. Harry Potter was on the train to Hogwarts, about to begin his first year, just like Draco. They were going to be _classmate_ _s_. 

Meanwhile, Blaise was still speaking, a very condescending air about him, “– don’t understand why people are making such a big deal about it. He’s just a kid like any of the rest of us. Nothing special, really. He just got lucky – was at the right place at the right time. It could’ve been anyone –” 

“Crabbe. Goyle. Let’s go.” Draco got up and slid the compartment door open. 

Blaise looked at him, brow furrowed. “Go? Go where?” 

Draco looked back at him and sneered, “Oh please, don’t tell me you don’t even want to take a look at him. The boy who conquered the Dark Lord. The only person that ever survived a killing curse. _The Boy Who Lived_. He's said to be the next dark wizard, you know. The one who’ll replace the Dark Lord and finish what he started. Don’t tell me you don’t even want to catch a glimpse of him.” 

Blaise tried hard to keep his face straight but shifted his weight uncomfortably and Draco knew he was right. 

He _did_ want to see him. 

“Well,” Draco said confidently, looking over his shoulder at the other boy, “are you coming?” 

Blaise paused, then, in an attempt to regain some of his lost dignity, looked away from Draco and shook his head, “You lot go. I’ll hold the compartment so nobody else takes it. We’ll see him plenty during classes anyway.” 

Nodding, Draco beckoned Crabbe and Goyle to follow him and started down the corridor. 

⤝✶⤞

After causing a lot of bruised ribs and backsides from their journey down the corridor to Harry Potter’s supposed compartment, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle stood before its sliding doors. Draco’s nerves were alight with excitement. In his head he was already imagining being best friends with the famous Boy Who Lived, solidifying a connection with one of the most important people in the Wizarding World before he set foot in the halls of Hogwarts. 

Blaise hadn’t been wrong. Every group they barrelled through had, prior to their interruption been talking about one thing and one thing only. _Harry Potter_ _._

Not wanting to waste one more minute, he slid the compartment door open with a flourish, stepping inside immediately without waiting for a response. 

His gaze slid over the red-headed boy on his left and fixated on the only other person in the compartment. It was the boy from Madam Malkin’s shop, in all his curly-haired, specky glory, except this wasn’t what Draco was interested in anymore. The scar on his forehead outshone it all. 

“Is it true,” he said, already knowing the answer to the question he was about to ask. “They’re saying all down the train that Harry Potter’s in this compartment. So, it’s you, is it?” 

Harry Potter blinked in recognition. “Yes.” 

To Draco’s disappointment, however, the boy’s gaze didn’t linger on him for long. He was, instead, looking at Crabbe and Goyle, 

A little irritated and determined to take Potter’s attention off of the other two and back to him, Draco said with mock carelessness, “Oh, this is Crabbe, and this is Goyle.” Then, losing the monotonous tone, he added, “And my name’s Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.” 

The red-headed boy gave a badly concealed snigger and Draco’s attention snapped over to him. 

“Think my name’s funny, do you?” he said, snappishly. “No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.” 

He turned back to Potter. 

“You’ll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.” 

He held out his hand to shake Potter’s, but, in a terrible parallel to Blaise’s reaction to Draco’s forwardness, Potter didn’t take it. 

“I can tell who the wrong sort is for myself, thanks,” he said coolly. 

Draco felt his face heat up just a little and, deep in his mind, wondered whether his father had given him the wrong advice about making friends. 

_Of course_ _he didn’t_. 

It wasn’t Draco’s fault these neanderthals didn’t understand proper etiquette. At least Blaise had the decency to introduce himself and speak to him like a normal human being. 

“I’d be careful if I were you, Potter,” he said slowly when he’d recomposed himself. “Unless you’re a bit more polite you’ll go the same way as your parents. They didn’t know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riff-raff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid and it’ll rub off on you.” 

Both the Weasley boy and Potter stood up, the former looking quite comical, his face as red as his hair. 

“Say that again,” he said furiously. 

Draco scoffed to himself and sneered at him, “Oh, you’re going to fight us, are you?” 

Potter’s eyes narrowed, “Unless you get out now.” 

“But we don’t feel like leaving, do we boys?” Draco said, his sneer growing all the wider. “We’ve eaten all our food and you still seem to have some.” 

Goyle reached his pudgy fingers towards the Chocolate Frogs next to Weasley and the latter jumped forward. Before he could as much as touch him, however, Goyle let out a big yelp and flailed back. A rat was hanging off his finger, its teeth sunk deep into his knuckle. 

Draco jumped back, almost ramming into Crabbe, as Goyle swung the rat around frantically, howling in pain and panic, until the rat finally flew off, hitting the window. 

The second it had let go of Goyle’s finger, Crabbe tapped both Draco and Goyle on the shoulders, pointing down the corridor at the irritated-looking mess of frizzy brown hair making its way towards them, and the three made a run for it, barging past everyone on the corridor to get back to their own. 

They collapsed into their seats, breathless, just in time for a voice to echo through the train, announcing that they would be arriving in five minutes. 

Blaise looked them over, “What happened to you?” 

Crabbe shook his head. “Frizzy nightmares.” 

“And rats,” Goyle added miserably. 

“So, I’m guessing Harry Potter isn’t your best friend from now on?” Blaise said, smirking at Draco. 

“Shut up, Zabini, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” snapped Draco. “Potter is rude and ignorant. I wouldn’t want to be friends with him anyways – hanging around with the people he does.” 

Draco just about heard Blaise’s muttered ‘ _sure’_ before the training ground to a halt. 

They pushed their way out into the cold, dark night, standing on a well-kept platform. They shivered in the cold, nothing but their school robes and oxford shirts to protect them from the autumn air. 

To Draco’s disappointment, it was the giant savage Hagrid that the first years had to follow over to the lake and ceremonial boat ride that he had heard so much about from his parents. 

He got on a boat with Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise and, gliding over the glass-like surface of the lake, peered up at the castle ahead. 

Its turrets gleamed black again the deep purple sky, the roof tiles reflecting the pale moon above. The sky was clear enough to see the milky way and still, the most majestic thing wasn’t the starry dome above. It was incomparable to any of the stories he’d heard about it, illustrations he’s seen. It wasn’t a castle, a fortress, a palace, not even a school. 

The sight filled Draco with emotion like none he’d ever felt, anticipation like none anything else could entice. 

He looked forward and the only thing he saw was _Hogwarts_. 


	6. Dear Mother ...

_**3rd of September 1991** _

Draco stared at the magnificent building in front of him, and he could feel his little heart beating with joy.

Once they arrived at what looked like an underground harbor straight under the castle, all the first-years alongside Hagrid stepped out onto rocks and shiny pebbles.

_They could at least have a proper floor here._

Draco's previous burst of joy soon changed into disgust as he walked through a small tunnel with moss growing on each side of the wall.

"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

Draco looked around and noticed a giant green toad with eyes looking in different directions.

He never understood how people could have such filthy little pets. If he recalled correctly, most wizarding families got their pets at Diagon Alley. He couldn't have been sure, since he got his pet owl from his parents shortly after his letter arrived.

"Trevor!" cried a chubby little boy and picked the toad.

Draco smirked and followed the half-giant deeper into the tunnel.

Shortly after, they arrived at a small place outside the castle.

 _'It must have been raining before we got here.'_ Draco thought as he stepped on the damp green grass.

There were a few trees around him with colorful bushes planted in neat rows.

They went a few more minutes before they arrived before an oak door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"

Hagrid looked around and knocked on the door with his giant fist, and moments after, a tall black-haired witch opened.

She had emerald green robes with small golden embroidery on each sleeve and a pointy hat that looked slightly worn-out. Her lips rested in a thin line, and her face looked very tense. She definitely wasn't somebody to mess with.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." She answered, and Hagrid turned to head back.

She turned the door open, and in duos, the first-years headed straight to the entrance hall.

The walls were made from stone, with almost no cracks and the floor was to Draco's mild distaste stone and no carpets. There were torches that lit the whole room in golden light on each side, and when he looked up, there was a chandelier with candles above him.

Many students quietly admired the surroundings, but to Draco, this didn't come as a surprise or shock. He was used to tall ceilings with chandeliers and halls bigger than most houses, so he directed his attention to the professor standing before him.

She led them to the marble staircase, where she stopped at the very top to face the students.

Draco could hear some muffled voices in the opposite room, which was behind a giant wooden door. _This is where the rest of the school must be._ As she stood on the top of the staircase, she waited for them to quieten.

A few moments later, all the first-years stood before her, closer than they wanted to be, nervously waiting for what happens next.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall.

"The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room. "

"The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. "She paused, and Draco smirked at the mention of his family house.

"Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule-breaking will lose House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours."

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." Her eyes lingered for a moment on _toad boy's_ cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Weasley's smudged nose. Harry nervously tried to flatten his hair.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

The moment she left the room, all the first-years started chit-chatting between each other, sharing their opinions and excitement over who would be in which House. He didn't even think about being in a different house than Slytherin; however, the thought of the Sorting Hat choosing Hufflepuff or Gryffindor for him made him shiver a bit.

"What do you think Draco? Which House will you be sorted in? "Crabbe asked behind him, and Draco turned to him with an annoyed expression.

"Slytherin of course! What kind of question is that?" Draco asked Crabbe looked into the ground.

When he turned around, Draco gasped, and so did the people around him.

About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room, talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years.

They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance —"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost — I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years. Nobody answered. "New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded mutely. "Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old House, you know." _No, thank you._

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Draco stood next to Goyle as they walked through the double doors, which led to the Great Hall.

This room was extraordinary. Draco gasped in awe and smiled broadly as he looked around to see the hundreds of faces examining them walkthrough.

It was lit by thousands of candles floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the Hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here to come to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver.

He noticed all the students looking upward, so he followed and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. It was magnificent, and he felt as if he was in a dream.

It was hard to believe that he was finally at Hogwarts, and this is where he would spend his next seven years. Studying and creating a future for himself. This was the beginning of a journey, and in the end, he would emerge as an adult wizard with the best future he can have.

He smiled at that thought and looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first-years. On top of the stool, she put a pointed wizard's hat.

It was patched and frayed and extremely dirty.

Definitely not what he imagined the Sorting Hat would look like.

For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth — and the hat began to sing:

_"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head_.

_The Sorting Hat can't see,_

_So try me on, and I will tell you_.

_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_.

_And unafraid of toil;_

_O_ _r yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_if you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folks use any means_.

_T_ _o achieve their ends._

_So put me on!_

_Don't be afraid!_

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a Thinking Cap!_

The whole Hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward, holding a long roll of parchment. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said.

"Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment's pause —

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table.

Draco noticed the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!" The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin. _Hmmph, she doesn't seem like a Slytherin._

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" It seemed as if it took the hat different times to sort someone to their proper House, which fascinated him. _I wonder how much time it will take to decide where I belong._ In some cases, the hat discussed the qualities and talents of the person who wore it, and he could not wait for his turn.

"Finnigan, Seamus," the sandy-haired boy next to Harry Potter in the line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Draco observed the petite girl with frizzy hair and how she almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head. "GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat.

Draco smirked, and his grey eyes followed her across the room. Weasley, who was just a few meters next to him, groaned.

He glared at him and thought of at least two insults he could have called that ginger.

When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing that ugly toad of his, was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to MacDougal, Morag.

Crabbe and Goyle were already called, and they were now eagerly waiting for Draco to follow them to the Slytherin table.

When his name was called, he confidently swaggered and sat on the wooden chair.

He must have agreed that it was pretty uncomfortable. Luckily for him, the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

A wide grin appeared on his face as he went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself. The Slytherin table was cheering, and once he sat down, he felt an unfamiliar warmth in his heart.

There weren't many people left now. "Moon". . . , "Nott". . . , "Parkinson". . . , then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil". . . , then "Perks, Sally-Anne". . . , and then, at last —

"Potter, Harry!"

_Harry Potter._

"Potter, did she say?"

" _The_ Harry Potter?"

Potter went to the stool, and Professor McGonagall slowly put the hat over him.

As much as Draco did not want to admit it, he was inquisitive where the infamous _Boy Who Lived_ would be sorted.

Harry waited. "Hmm,"

"Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes — and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting. . . . So where shall I put you?"

"Not Slytherin, eh?" said the small voice.

"Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that — no? Well, if you're sure — better be GRYFFINDOR!"

Potter clumsily went to the Gryffindor table, seemingly unaware that he got the biggest cheer yet. That was the most Draco's first sparks of jealousy begun. Percy the Prefect got up and shook his hand vigorously, while the Weasley twins yelled, "We got Potter! We got Potter!"

Harry sat down opposite the ghost in the ruff he'd seen earlier and started talking to him.

And now there were only four people left to be sorted.

"Thomas, Dean," a black boy even taller than Weasleys, joined Potter at the Gryffindor table.

"Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw, and then it was Weasley's turn.

He was pale green by now, and Draco chuckled when he saw him.

Potter crossed his fingers under the table, and a second later, the hat had shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!" he clapped loudly with the rest as Ron collapsed into the chair next to him.

The last one was Blaise Zabini, who was made a Slytherin. Draco greeted him and offered him a seat next to him, to which Blaise nonchalantly agreed.

Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

Once diner began, Draco started eating and happily conversing with fellow Slytherins, paying attention to Harry Potter no more.

However, there was an annoying voice in the back of his head that reminded him how swiftly the Sorting Hat made its decision. He was undoubtedly proud he was a Slytherin, but a little part of him wished he stayed a bit longer. Just enough for the hat to say at least one of his qualities. There must have been some, right?

He suppressed it until it stopped bothering him and started eating the delicious meal on the golden plate before him.

It was a rather enjoyable dinner. A bit too loud and chaotic for his liking, but he figured he would get used to it rather quickly.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore.

Draco noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become relatively fixed. Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words. "Everyone picks their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!" And the school bellowed:

_Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_

_Teach us something please,_

_Whether we be old and bald,_

_Or young with scabby knees,_

_Our heads could do with filling,_

_With some interesting stuff,_

_For now, they're bare and full of air,_

_Dead flies and bits of fluff,_

_So teach us things worth knowing,_

_Bring back what we've forgotten,_

_Just do your best, we'll do the rest,_

_And learn until our brains all rot._

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a plodding funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand, and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

Draco couldn't help himself but cringe at this. However, it seemed that at least Crabbe and Goyle were enjoying themselves since they were grinning, trying to remember the lyrics.

⤝✶⤞

After dinner, the prefects had shown the first-years around Hogwarts.

He had learned that the Head of the Slytherin house was Severus Snape. He recognized that name almost immediately since he was his Father's long-time friend. If he recalled correctly, he would often visit the Malfoys, and once, when he was little, he babysat Draco when his parents were in Albany.

He was also teaching Potions at Hogwarts, so perhaps he would favor Draco. _That would certainly be helpful._

"Slytherin first-years please follow me, so I can show you your dormitories." The perfect said as he walked through the double doors, they came through just an hour ago.

The prefect of Slytherin was Gemma Farley. A tall black-haired girl with an authoritarian yet energetic personality. She seemed to have a slight distaste and prejudice against Gryffindors, but Draco couldn't blame her. They were loud and annoying.

"Before we go any further, you should all know some simple things about the Slytherin house. Our emblem is the serpent, our house colors are emerald green and silver, and our common room lies behind a concealed entrance down in the Dungeons. As you'll see, its windows look out into the depths of the Hogwarts lake. We often see the giant squid swooshing by — and sometimes more interesting and _dangerous_ creatures, so I advise you to NOT tap the glass. "The perfect said with a stern voice as she gave them a firm look.

Draco slowly nodded, and his mind already started thinking about how the dormitories would look.

They were walking for a few minutes through the cold and empty halls of Hogwarts, greeted by portraits of famous wizards and witches, until they arrived at Entrance Hall.

In the middle of the room were giant marble stairs that led to other parts of the castle, and on the right side of the Hall, there was a wooden door, which lead to the Dungeons.

Gemma Farley stopped before these doors before saying: "This is one of the few ways, you can get into the Dungeons. Be careful, so you don't fall down the stairs. We wouldn't want anybody to get hurt, wouldn't we?"

She smirked as she opened the doors and started descending the cold stairs.

"These are called Slughorn's stairs. My sister told me he was teaching here when _You Know Who_ studied here." He heard a blonde girl with pigtails whisper to her friend.

As they went deeper and deeper into the cold Dungeons, his breath started to be uneven, and he could feel drops of sweat dripping down his forehead. He was exhausted, and while he wanted to explore Hogwarts for hours and hours more, he desperately needed to rest.

When the stairs ended, Draco tried to remember the pathway, so he wouldn't have to ask for directions the next time he went.

_Right._

_Left._

_Straight._

_Straight._

_Right._

They stopped before a bare stretch of a stone wall.

"Behind this wall is the Slytherin common room. You have to say the password in order to access it. The password changes quite often, but it will _always_ be written on a board in the common room, so be sure to check it every two weeks. The password as of now, is _transgressoribus cave_. "

When she said those words, the stone wall started to disappear to reveal a narrow passageway.

"Follow me." She said with a smile and disappeared into the shadows of the cold walls.

⤝✶⤞

The Slytherin common room was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling, from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them, and several Slytherins were silhouetted around it in carved chairs. There were skulls carefully placed on the dark cupboards, and the tapestries covering the whole room featured adventures of famous Slytherins and their accomplishments. The whole room reminded Draco of an underground pirate ship, and he slightly twitched when he saw a dark creature swimming behind the glass windows.

"Welcome to the Slytherin common room! Now, let's get you all sorted into dormitories. The male dormitories are located right here—"Farley said and pointed to the dark wooden door on Draco's right. "—and women's dormitories are located just here. "She continued and pointed to the silver-painted doors decorated with carvings by the female students.

A tall brown-haired boy came up behind her with a scroll, and Farley said: "Ahhhh, Bole here you are. Could you show the boys their dormitories?"

"Sure. Now follow me please. "He said to them, and Farley gave him a thankful smile.

Draco followed him through the door and long passageway to a circular room with many doors evenly spaced out.

"All your things have already been brought to your rooms, so no need to worry about that. I will now read the names of people that will be sleeping in the same room. Oh, and one more thing. You cannot access female dormitories, so don't even try. Now, let's start. "The male prefect explained and started reading the scroll.

It took several minutes before he mentioned Draco's name, and he was starting to get impatient.

"In room 4, there will be five boys. Crabbe! Goyle! Malfoy! Nott! Zabini!" he shouted, and Draco hid his smug smile. _This will be interesting._

He never met Nott, but if he was correct, he was a pureblood as well.

He confidently walked past the prefect and walked first through the wooden door in front of him.

The four-poster beds were covered in green eiderdowns with green curtains, a wooden nightstand next to it, and their school trunks at the foot of the bed. A wooden board was situated on either side of the bed, and a wooden chair and dresser were located near the nightstand and the window. A book and a piece of parchment were placed on the nightstand. A wooden bookcase filled with magical artifacts was on the other side of the bed with books on top of it. The walls and floors were made of cold stone, just like the rest of the Dungeons. The dorm had a green carpet with the house crest in the center and two spherical lamps on either side. Small alcoves were on either side of the bed, and giant windows to the ceiling provided an excellent view into the Black Lake.

It was quite big as well—certainly enough for five boys to spend the night at.

Draco noticed his things and clothes on one of the beds between Zabini's and Nott's beds. He sat on the comfortable mattress and observed every little detail in the room.

If he listened carefully, he would hear the faint noises of water lapping against the windows, which calmed him and scared him at the same time. It was certainly different from where he was used to sleeping in. He couldn't say he didn't miss his old room, but there was something thrilling about finally leaving the Manor behind.

He saw Crabbe and Goyle falling on their beds, both exhausted and full from the amount of food they had eaten. Zabini followed them soon and looked around the room before nonchalantly sitting on his bed. The last boy was Theodore Nott. He was a tall and weedy brunet boy with bushy eyebrows, straight hair, and hazel eyes, which scanned the room for a few moments before going to his bed and picking up one of the books he took with him.

"What's your name?" Draco directed the question at the weedy boy, who turned around to have a look, who was speaking with him.

After a few moments of silence, he replied: "Theodore Nott. You?"

"I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. This is Crabbe – "he pointed at exhausted Crabbe "-that is Goyle-"Theodore looked at Goyle who looked like he was going to puke all over the floor. "and that is-"

He was interrupted by Blaise before he could finish his sentence. "And I'm Blaise Zabini."

Draco scoffed, but Blaise only rolled his eyes at his childish behavior.

"Very well. I think we are going to get along pretty good." Theodore said and started unpacking his stuff.

"Well, it certainly will be an eventful year, since Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts." Blaise said with a smirk as he put his robes in the wardrobe.

Draco made a face at the mention of Harry Potter as he muttered something under his breath.

"Ugh. Harry Potter. He's only been here for a few hours and the whole school is already losing their minds over him. I don't get it."

Theodore smirked and said: "Someone's jealous."

Draco stopped unpacking and stared at him in annoyance. "Why would _I_ possibly be jealous of Harry Potter? He is nothing compared to me."

"Well, he certainly gets more attention than you do and, on the train, you looked quite mad after returning from his compartment." Blaise objected, and Draco scoffed.

"It's not my fault he rejected my friendship offer. It's his fault he sticks around someone like _Weasley_. Not to mention he's a Gryffindor and I will not associate with somebody like him. Fancy Potter, thinks he's all that when in reality he's just a silly little orphan." Draco spat out and continued unpacking his last pieces of clothing.

Blaise and Theo looked at each other in silence, and both smirked.

"Whatever you say." Theodore said with a smug face, moving past the subject of Harry Potter.

Later that night, Draco laid in his bed, staring at the top of the bed, just listening to the water. He was thinking about so many things and how he would explore Hogwarts more in the upcoming days. _Mother was right; I did meet other wizards and witches like me._

He smiled, and soon, his mind drifted off to dreamland.

⤝✶⤞

Finally, after twenty terrible and daunting minutes of almost falling through trick steps and ramming into fake doors, Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, Theodore, and Blaise made it down into the Great Hall. Theodore was still rubbing his forearms irritably from his fall from the staircase. The steps were just too damn high. Draco would never admit it, but he almost fell a couple of times, too.

They neared the great double door – open now to let the steady stream of yawning students in – and, with a surge of exhilaration, Draco realized the previously intangible smell in the air was the smell of breakfast. Not the kind that he experienced at home, no. This one was lighter somehow, more forest-y and _personal._ Draco didn't know how to describe it, but his heart leaped with joy. He didn't think he had ever been more excited at the notion of food consumption.

Crabbe and Goyle sensed it too and ran instantly up ahead, basically barging through the double doors. (Those were the only instances when they left Draco's side. They may have been childhood friends, and Draco may have made himself their ringleader, but the food was their one true love. That and, in Crabbe's case, people watching.) Blaise just sighed and followed in after them, throwing Theodore a raised eyebrow. The latter offered him a smirk, nodded in Draco's direction, and, the first hint of a smile Draco had seen on him stretching across his face, jogged through the doorway.

Draco picked up his pace as well, egged on by his rumbling stomach. Mother should be sending him sweets this morning, too. He cut past a couple of Ravenclaw girls who were taking way too long entering, and a sudden wave of _Hogwartishness_ hit him right in the face.

There was no other way to describe it.

Though there was no difference in the temperatures in and out of the hall, Draco suddenly felt warmer, his skin tingly. The hum of conversation that he otherwise found so insanely irritating was unexpectedly comforting, enveloping him like a hug of hot buns and pancakes and friendship. All things that he was terrible at doing. Not that he ever tried to cook. And yet still, it felt beautiful.

He wasn't just Draco Malfoy here. He wasn't only the heir to the Malfoy name and the self-designated 'Prince of Slytherin'.

He was a Hogwarts student. One of many. An individual cell of a vast organism – one that moved and breathed and was very, very alive.

Unable to keep the grin off his face, Draco jogged over to the Slytherin table, sliding in beside Blaise, where he had sat the previous night too. Goyle sat on his other side and Crabbe and Theodore sat across. Theodore was calmly spreading beans on his toast, while Goyle piled a variety of things onto his own plate, looking hopelessly indecisive. Crabbe simply grabbed one of the first-year girl's scones when she wasn't looking and set on munching those.

Draco was trying to decide whether to demand Crabbe give the sugary delights (which he, for some reason, craved) to him, when a girl appeared behind him, towering over Crabbe's sitting form.

"Move over."

Draco's gaze snapped up at her, as did Crabbe's. Goyle kept eating, but Theodore turned around, curious. Blaise paused in the middle of sipping his juice, half annoyed and half-interested at what was going to happen.

"Find your own space," said Crabbe, offended. He glared at her beadily, and Draco could see his knuckles turn white.

The girl was unfazed. "Move, or I'll tell everyone about your famous great-uncle Ptolemy."

Draco tensed. He had been under the impression only the Crabbes and his own family knew about that. Hell, even he didn't know all the details.

Crabbe's great-uncle was a squib. Not just any squib, however. He was one of the few that led the squib riots in the sixties. He rioted not under his new, assigned muggle name – Jeremy Brown – but used instead of the one he was born with; Ptolemy Mercurius Crabbe. He took the Crabbe name and dragged it through the mud. The family had to go to extreme lengths to make everyone see his involvement and existence as a hoax, a rumor made up by the extremist squibs that wanted to rid the old pureblood families of their famous renown. They had worked hard to make everyone forget all about him. It was a massive scandal. A scandal that no one was supposed to know about. Especially not random schoolgirls.

Crabbe went so white; he could've easily cosplayed a ghost, no makeup needed. "How - how do you –"

"Unimportant." She sat down between Crabbe and Theodore, Crabbe scrambling to get out of her way, his wild eyes fixed on the table. Draco couldn't blame him – this girl was quite alarming. "I'm Pansy Parkinson. And you are?"

"Blaise Zabini."

"Theodore Nott."

"Gregory Goyle."

A murmur that might have been ' _Crabbe'_ sounded from next to her.

Pansy looked expectantly at Draco. He, however, had no intention of introducing himself just yet. He couldn't figure out how she could possibly know how she might've found out. And he couldn't let it go.

"How do you know?" he said, eyes narrowing to slits. "How could _you_ possibly know anything about it?"

She blinked and smirked, "How do you know I'm not psychic?"

Draco was unimpressed. She rolled her eyes, the brown catching the light, making the dark color look goldish for just a moment. "Fine, Merlin, don't go getting your knickers in a twist. I don't know anything, really. I just heard you talking about some great-uncle looking all hushed up and anxious and figured I'd save it for future use." She peered over at Crabbe. "So, you know, you can stop freaking out now."

Crabbe looked relieved, then angry. He opened his mouth to say something in retaliation, but, before he could, Draco said snappishly, "She played the game and you lost, Crabbe. If you wanna keep your seat learn to judge people better." He looked back over at Pansy, somewhat impressed. "I'm Draco, by the way. Draco Malfoy."

Pansy's smirk grew all the wider. "I can tell by the hair."

Before Draco could decide what she meant by that, an older student threw some leaflets their way.

"Oy, first-years! Your schedules. Better get crackin' on that if you wanna get to your classes on time, speaking from experience," she said, grinning, then turned back towards her friends, throwing more leaflets in a variety of directions. A green badge gleamed on her chest. Not Farley, then, but also a prefect. Draco made a mental note of her.

"Double potions first lesson." Blaise's voice shocked Draco to attention, and he tore his gaze away from the badge. Blaise was studying the schedule, disbelief etched into his face, his tone annoyed. "They've got to be joking."

Theo frowned, "I don't see what's so terrible about it."

"It's our first day and we've already gotten lost fifteen times and almost fallen of off the staircases like twice. Shouldn't there be some sort of orientation?"

"Scared of getting lost, are we?" said Pansy.

"Well, excuse me for not wanting to be late on my first day."

Pansy pulled a face and went back to her omelet.

Draco, however, thought Blaise had a point. "You're right, Zabini. They don't have a right to make us run around like rats in a maze like this. They're supposed to _educate_ us. How are we supposed to do that when they don't even give us a map to the castle?"

"Well, there's not much we can do about it," droned Theo, pushing his bacon around with a fork. "We're eleven. What do you want to do, riot? They can literally just expel us if we refuse to go to classes."

Draco scoffed, " _Riot?_ Please, why would I do that? I'm not barbaric.... no, my Father's on the school board. I'll just make sure he hears about this. He'll _make_ them give us maps."

"Good. I don't want to fall into that dumb step every time I go back to the dormitories," said Crabbe, apparently recovered from the earlier drama.

He didn't seem to have even touched the leaflet set before him.

Goyle nodded enthusiastically. He hadn't said a thing the entire time – not including his own name – and the plates of food set in the middle of the table closest to him seemed considerably emptier than before.

Suddenly, a swell of noise sounded from above, and Draco felt his hair tickling his face as a gust of wind passed around him. Irritated, groping frantically at his hair to maintain what he deemed to be perfection, he looked up, and the most amazing sight met his eyes.

Instead of a cerulean sky and fluffy clouds, the ceiling was now a patchwork of brown and black and grey and white, a mask of flapping wings and piercing screeches.

The owls swooped down, gliding along with the tables. A few landed near their owners, making a notable mess on the tables, while others simply dropped their letters and packages down, making an elegant loop and flying swiftly back out of the hall. The Malfoys' eagle owl was in the latter group, screeching as he gently set Draco's package down in front of him and swooped around the boy, brushing against Draco's robes with his feathers.

Pansy's eyes widened at the large package. "Woah, what's in there?"

Draco didn't get to answer. The rest of the student body was already standing up and leaving in pairs and small groups.

Blaise glanced at the ornamental clock hung towards the back of the hall and stood up. "Okay, lot. Might want to get going if we don't want to be late for our first lesson."

On that cue, Draco pushed in his corner of the bench and followed him, Crabbe and Goyle at his heels. He didn't turn around to see if Pansy and Theodore were coming. He wasn't their babysitter. Still, he could hear they were, their boots scuffing against the stone floor as they shuffled after the group.

Learning from their previous mistake, they followed the older Slytherins back down into the Dungeons.

Once they had successfully navigated back to their dormitories, they – except for Pansy, who had to go into the girls' dormitory with Millicent Bulstrode, and the likes of them – flung open the door and spilled into the room, each in search of their Potions textbooks, each painfully aware of how long it had taken them to get to the Great Hall.

After about five minutes of scrambling frantically about, Theo whooped, making the other four turn towards him.

"What?" said Goyle, furrowing his brow.

Theo looked up from the schedule and plopped himself onto his bed, stretching widely. "There's no need to rush, guys, we've got all the time in the world."

Blaise frowned. "No, we don't. Potions start in ten minutes."

"Well, yeah," said Theodore, pushing himself up and waving the schedule in Blaise's face. "But look _where_ it is."

Draco, confused, made his way over to Theo and looked over his shoulder. "The Dungeons."

"Exactly! Which means we have _way_ more time than we thought we did."

"And the Head of House is our Potions Professor as well," Blaise murmured.

Draco knew that. He knew Snape, too, and knew that he probably wouldn't deduct any points from his house if he could avoid it. He still, however, wanted to be there on time. Perhaps even early. Potions was the only subject he had done extra reading for.

Draco threw the sock he had been looking under down and frowned all of this on his mind. "Well, I still want to be there on time. I'm not taking any chances. Remember that horrible ghost that locked us in that room in the morning? I don't intend to settle on being second to anyone."

 _Especially not Potter_.

He grabbed his Potions book from underneath a pile of shirts and left, leaving the door gaping open behind him.

He heard Crabbe and Goyle scramble for their books and follow as he waited for them by the exit, flinging it open once they had caught up and he had affirmed that they hadn't taken the wrong textbooks by accident.

They left the green-ness of thee common room behind and trudged down the dim corridor towards their first lesson. Draco was pretty sure that he saw Pansy and the other first-year Slytherin girls up ahead, disappearing one by one into a side door that was sure to lead directly to the Potions classroom and, in extension Professor Severus Snape.

Draco gripped his textbook tightly and stepped through the doorway.

⤝✶⤞

Harry descended the stairs to the dungeons, already starting to shiver with cold. The dungeons were quite a bit colder than the castle's bright hallways up above, and Harry fleetingly wondered how the Slytherins managed to survive all year down there.

Ron was beside him, taking the stairs two steps at a time, jumping awkwardly along. If he was cold, he was doing an excellent job of not letting it on.

A bushy brown blur sped past them, and Harry jumped out of the way as Hermione barged on ahead, her shoes clicking funnily against the stone floor.

"Mental, that one," Ron murmured, shaking his head and readjusting his hold on his books. "Imagine being that excited for school."

They continued down the corridor, the door leading to the Potions classroom coming into view. Harry pushed his glasses, which were slipping down his nose, back up.

"It is pretty exciting, though. It's our first lesson, I mean."

Ron sighed and tilted his head back. "Well, Yeah. But it's with _Snape_."

"What's wrong with Snape?"

But Ron had already slipped through the doorway and down the stairs. Not liking the cold emanating from the opening, Harry, having no other option, followed him in, bracing himself for another bout of shivers.

However, the Potions classroom was far too strange for Harry to stay thinking about how terrible an insulator his robes were. Creepy jars full of animal parts and eyeballs and something that looked suspiciously like blood lined the shelves, illuminated by the faint green glow of the cauldron set on the table upfront. Behind the cauldron, was Severus Snape.

He was sickly looking and sallow, his face gaunt, his hair framing it in greasy strands and clumps. He was standing straight-backed behind the cauldron, glaring around at the eleven-year-olds settling themselves in pairs and trios around smaller, empty cauldrons distributed about the class. Not wanting to catch his eye again, Harry hurried over to Ron and slipped in beside him, pulling out his spare parchment and quill.

Like Flitwick, Snape began the lesson by taking the register.

He went through the first few letters of the alphabet quickly. Then he got to the 'P's.

"Parkinson, Pansy."

"Here."

"Patil, Parvati."

"Here."

Looking further down the list, Snape opened his mouth and paused. His lips curled into a sneer.

"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new – _celebrity_."

Harry curled his hands into fists as a swell of sniggers sounded across the room. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were hunched around their table, leering at him tauntingly.

The register ended, and Snape began to speak again, his voice as dead as the creatures in the jars and twice as monotone. "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of the liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Hermione sat up even straighter at this. The rest of the class remained silent. Harry exchanged a look with Ron, eyebrows raised.

"Potter!" exclaimed Snape, swooping away from his desk to the front of the class, so that he and Harry were directly in front of each other. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry – startled – stared at him, dumbfounded.

_Powdered root of what to an infusion of what?_

He was lost. In his periphery, he could see Hermione raise her hand, biting her lip furiously.

"I don't know sir," he said honestly, hoping the Professor would leave him alone and go after Hermione instead.

Snape sneered. "Tut, tut. Clearly, fame isn't everything." He turned towards the blackboard with a flourish. Hermione's hand went ignored. Harry's little sliver of hope shriveled up. "Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were now shaking with laughter, their snorts making little waves of humiliation roll over Harry. His face went red.

"I don't know, sir," he forced out.

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"

Hermione was now almost standing up in her seat. Harry was burning with embarrassment but forced himself to keep looking into Snape's dark eyes. Did the Professor really expect him to memorize his entire textbook by heart?

"What is the difference, Potter," Snape started again, leering at him, "between monkswood and wolfsbane?"

Hermione full-on stood up now and Harry, having had quite enough of the whole confrontation, said quietly, "I don't know. I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"

Barks of laughter erupted around the room. Seamus caught Harry's eye and winked, giving him a thumbs up. This moment of brief elation, however, was dampened quickly by Snape's angry face.

"Sit down," he snapped at Hermione, then turned sharply back to Harry. "For your information, Potter, asphodel, and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkswood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

He glared about the room for a bit of them, looking very much like a bat, said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter."

Snape continued to be nasty to the Gryffindors all lesson, Harry and Neville – who turned out to be quite the klutz – in particular.

He snarled at Neville for hurting himself on accident and then reprimanded Harry, who was sitting near him, for not helping him. This was something that Harry didn't understand, as he barely had any idea what he was doing, but – on Ron's recommendation – let it slide.

Instances of a similar manner continued to happen throughout the lesson, and Harry could see the Gryffindors get more and more frustrated. The Slytherins, on the other hand, got progressively smugger.

They were only praised by Snape, and he turned a blind eye on all and any of their mistakes, which included but were not limited to:

A very small explosion. A major spill that Snape cleaned up quickly and didn't so much as comment on. Two near-fatal incidents involving the caged white mice near the front of the classroom.

Slytherin gained four points that lesson and Gryffindor lost two. Both courtesy of Harry – a fact that didn't make his already horrid mood any lighter.

Why did Snape hate him so much?

"Cheer up," said Ron, noticing his foul demeanor, "Snape's always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come and meet Hagrid with you?"

"Yeah, 'course."

Hagrid. In the haze and cold of the Potions lesson, Harry had forgotten all about his invite and, as they stepped back out into the light of the above-ground corridors, he shunted Snape into the back of his mind.

_He's just one teacher. And he's not ruining my day._

⤝✶⤞

_**4th of September 1991** _

_21:30_

Silence. Finally, for the first time in twelve hours, the common room was completely and utterly silent. He had tried to write in the dormitory, but Goyle's snoring made that impossible. It was quite funny – Crabbe had been the greatest snorer when they were younger, but now he slept soundlessly, except perhaps for a few sleepy breaths every now and then.

Stretching his arms out above him, Draco dipped his designer quill into the ink bottle and made his first stroke on the parchment.

_Dear mother,_

_As I promised, I am writing to you about Hogwarts. It's been delightful here, and you were right. I did make some new friends. I have been sorted into Slytherin as expected, and I am growing quite fond of the Slytherin common room and dormitories. (Though it is quite cold here sometimes, I suppose I will have to get used to it.) You must also know that Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts. He's been sorted into Gryffindor, so there is a slim chance of me befriending him. Besides, I have offered him my friendship on the train, and he rejected. I was quite appalled by his manners, but it came as no surprise since he was sitting with Weasley. I think he is rather full of himself considering he doesn't even have parents._

_Also please tell Father to complain to Dumbledore about giving us maps. It is unbelievable! It took me, Nott, Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle almost twenty minutes to get to the Great Hall!_

_It has been a relatively uneventful couple of days, and the classes are mostly dull. However, Potions have been quite fun._

_Draco_

_(P.S.: Next time, please send more Jelly Slugs; I have grown quite fond of them)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, but we hope this chapter's worth it


	7. Flying Lesson

Draco sat at the Slytherin breakfast table staring, bleary-eyed into his bacon, poking at it with a fork. 

Today was their first flying lesson, and yes, he was probably supposed to be more excited, but dammit, was he not a morning person. 

On the other hand, Goyle seemed as awake as if he had just been dunked on the head with a bucket of melted ice, going on about Quidditch animatedly. At the same time, the rest of the first-year Slytherin boys nodded along, yawning into their cereal (Crabbe) and toast (Blaise) and eggs (Draco). (He had bacon with eggs. No, the author didn’t forget what they had written two paragraphs up) 

The only other person that seemed to be contributing anything to the conversation was, surprisingly, Theo. 

“Yeah, and Yahonotov really threw that penalty out of the window with that one,” he said. “I mean, Walsh wasn’t even looking. How can you mess up something like that? And with one point to go!” 

“Right!” Goyle threw his hands about, almost knocking over his pumpkin juice. “He just flaked out on it! And it happened again twice at the game with India! I don’t know how people still think he’s the best chaser they have.” 

“Maybe the two of you should spend less time following Quidditch and more time passing your classes,” murmured Blaise, stabbing his toast with a knife desolately. “It’s not like the sport is relevant to any of us anyways.” 

This sobered Draco right up, and he raised an eyebrow at the other boy, neglecting his bacon and eggs. “Not true. Quidditch is very important. Being on the house team is a great honour.” 

Blaise scoffed, “Oh sure, flying around sweaty and tired – such an honour. It’s not like we can even try out this year. First years aren’t allowed, remember.” 

“Yes well, next year I will get chosen and I’ll be the best seeker Slytherin has ever seen,” Draco retorted smugly, crossing his arms, smirking. “Remember, I was once chased around for three hours by a hungry fire-breathing dragon and, when I finally shook him of I –” 

“– Narrowly escaped a muggle helicopter? Yeah, we all know those stories are a load of tosh.” 

“They are not,” Draco insisted defensively. “Besides, you’ll see I’m telling the truth when I go out there and outfly all of you in a second.” 

“Whatever you say.” 

Draco flushed and opened his mouth to retort when Theo jumped into the conversation yet again (seriously, what was with him today?), a smirk stretching across his face, twirling a ring around his fingers. 

“By the way, guess what I saw Filch doing yesterday,” he said, looking around at them. 

Crabbe groaned. “It isn’t that stuff with the cat again, is it?” 

“No. Merlin. Just listen.” He put the ring in his pocket and leaned over the table, looking around to make sure nobody else was listening to them. “I was walking down the corridor to the dormitories and I came to a crossroads and there he was, around the corner, walking around, muttering to himself.” 

“And that seemed remarkable to you?” said Draco, leering. “Hate to break it to you but muttering to himself in the dungeons is Filch’s daily activity.” 

“Oh, bloody hell, that’s not what I’m talking about.” He rolled his eyes and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Listen – after that, he walked up the corridor, messed with the helmet of one of the suits of armour and disappeared! The ground just opened up and swallowed him in!” 

Draco snorted. “Well, that’s just ridiculous. Ground can’t just –” 

He tapered off, the sun glinting off a glass surface across the hall catching his eye. 

What is that? Who would need a Remembrall this early into the – 

The face of Neville Longbottom hovered above the glow. 

Draco’s lips curled into a smirk. 

“Hey! Hey, are you even listening to me?” Blaise tapped him on the shoulder. “Malfoy!” 

“Yeah, yeah. Old castle, ancient tunnels – got it. We can go see Nott’s miracle helmet after,” said Draco, waving a dismissive hand under Blaise’s nose. “Right now, I’ve got some stuff to attend to. Crabbe? Goyle?” 

He swung round on the bench and stood up, striding down the Slytherin table and across the hall, eyes fixed on the red banners hanging still beyond the sea of yellow and blue. 

Crabbe and Goyle had scrambled out of their seats and were now striding steadily beside him. Draco, noticing the question in Crabbe’s eyes, pointed down the Gryffindor table at their fellow pudgy blond first year, clutching a shiny glass sphere in his nervous fingers. 

Crabbe and Goyle only snickered. 

“– and if it turns red – oh…” Neville’s face fell, “... you’ve forgotten something…” 

Seeing his chance arise, Draco swung by Neville, snatching the Remembrall swiftly out of his hands. He paused for a minute to admire the red fog swirling around in the sphere turning back into a silvery haze – his eyes narrowed, grinning – then looked up to a sight that sent some strange pleasure rolling through his stomach. 

Potter and Weasley had both sprung up from their seats – seething. If looks could kill, forget six feet under. Draco would already be dust. 

_Idiots._

His hand twitched toward his wand. Crabbe and Goyle tensed up beside him, excited for a fight. And then, like bloody everything that day, from Blaise’s stupid views on Quidditch to Draco’s disastrous morning bedhead (“Stop lying, Goyle, it’s not okay!”), the moment was ruined. This time by none other than Minerva McGonagall, easily Draco’s least favorite teacher out of the whole school. (Apart from Dumbledore, of course.) McGonagall took no bullshit from anyone – Draco included – and her complete intolerance of his smart remarks drove him crazy. 

She was _just_ a teacher. What right did _she_ have reprimanding _him_? 

Similar emotions enticed during her lessons whirled through him now, bubbling up beneath the surface and making him feel much like a volcano. McGonagall was unperturbed. 

She looked around at them, eyes stern, lips pursed. “What’s going on?” 

“Malfoy’s got my Remembrall, professor,” Neville blurted out, hands still cupped around the vacant spot that the ball had inhabited. 

_Snitch._

Draco scowled and nigh threw the Remembrall back onto the table, ramming his hands into his pockets. 

“Just looking,” he said and sloped off down the table as if nothing had happened, fist curled around his wand in his robes. Crabbe, sensing the end of the encounter, followed immediately behind him. Goyle hesitated confusedly, but the look in McGonagall’s eyes prompted even him to recognize defeat and scurry after the other two. 

They went straight back to the dormitories and only met up with the others at Charms, where Pansy sidled up to Draco on the bench, Blaise smirking at them from across the room. 

“Heard you tried stealing Neville’s ball.” 

“Drop it, Parkinson.” 

A Cheshire grin graced her features, “Hey, if that’s what you’re into....” 

Draco’s face flushed in realization at what she was implying. “I said _drop it_!” 

Flitwick’s voice rang from the front of the class. “I rather think you’ve misunderstood the instructions, Mister Malfoy! Dropping is quite the opposite of what we’re practicing! Swish and flick!” 

Pansy giggled. “Yeah, Draco. Swish and flick.” 

Groaning, Draco facepalmed the table. He would have an angry red mark accessorizing his forehead for the better part of the day. 

⤝✶⤞

Charms were otherwise thoroughly uneventful – they were so far only practicing the wrist motions of the Levitating Charm, and the only lasting impression that Draco had of it was a cramped hand and a tick in his eye. History of Magic was, as always, boring, and Herbology – though less of a drag – similarly so. Draco still paid some attention, and he even made notes (he was justifiably distrustful of Crabbe and Goyle’s writing skills), but his mind was already on the courtyard, streaking through the air. 

In his fantasies, Potter and the rest of the Gryffindor idiots gaped up at him in wonder, while everyone else clapped and cheered. Hooch would insist the ‘no first years’ rule be broken. A party would be thrown in his honor. 

Draco could almost taste the Butterbeer... 

“Hello? Malfoy? Earth to Draco Malfoy!” 

Blaise was waving a hand in front of his face, looking quite irritated. “Really, is my voice a cue for you to zone out or something?” 

“Well, I can hardly pay attention when I have better stuff on my mind,” Draco retorted smugly. 

They were walking down the hallway to their Flying lesson, hurrying through sunlit corridors and rushing down the stairs before they had a chance to change again. It was just the six of them – Pansy, Blaise, Theo, Draco, Crabbe, Goyle – signing themselves up for a fashionably late arrival (which Draco, for once, did not approve of). 

“Like looking at Longbottom’s ball?” said Pansy. 

Draco turned on her sharply, his face redder than Weasley’s hair. “Will you _stop_ with that!” 

She just snickered at his reaction, a malicious twinkle appearing in her eye. 

“Now who’s falling for anyone’s game?” muttered Crabbe under his breath. The only reason Draco bit back a mean remark was because he could hear McGonagall’s brittle voice wafting from a classroom a few meters ahead. 

They sidled past, everyone falling silent. 

“If you’re done being babies,” Theo intoned suddenly as they trudged out of McGonagall’s earshot, his eyebrow raised judgmentally, “I suggest you all start brainstorming excuses.” He pointed ahead. 

Draco didn’t have to ask what he meant. The corridor ended in a double door, opened wide to the grassy courtyard. They stepped out onto the green, an array of first years clustered not twenty meters away. 

The Flying lesson was beginning. 

⤝✶⤞

In the end, they had gotten there still earlier than the Gryffindors, which angered Draco for really no apparent reason. Perhaps the idea of arriving fashionably late had grown on him just a little. 

They started with the easy stuff – commanding brooms up into their hands. Draco couldn’t help but be distracted by the atrocious state of the school brooms once the one that had been assigned to him had flown up into his palm. Were it not for the fact that he could not wait to get up into the air, he would have let go that very instant. 

The rest of the lesson didn’t go any better, and Draco found himself repeating his goal like a mantra in his head to prevent himself from barking at Madam Hooch as she berated his technique. 

_I will fly. I will fly. What does she know anyway? I will fly. I’m better than anyone here. I will fly._

He really must have gotten out on some cursed side of the bed that morning – there was no other explanation for it. After all, he had practiced for years. Could some silly Flying teacher really know the noble art of flight better than his father, the head of one of the most ancient wizarding houses in Britain? She probably wasn’t even a Pureblood. 

He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he almost didn’t notice when Hooch started the actual flying part of the lecture, and his gaze snapped forward in fervid attention. 

“Now, when I blow the whistle,” started Madam Hooch, “you kick off from the ground, hard.” She looked over them all for emphasis. “Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet –” 

Draco scoffed. 

_Please. I can do better than that._

“– and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle – three – two –” 

A commotion broke up the lines ahead near Hooch. A broom shot straight up at the sky – wide-eyed, stricken Neville Longbottom holding on to it for dear life. 

“Come back, boy!” Madam Hooch shouted, letting go of the whistle. 

But Neville no longer seemed to have any control. The broom was shooting up – up at a ninety-degree angle. Twelve feet, twenty, thirty. Then Neville made the mistake of looking down. 

His face turned to chalk, his mouth a dark, gasp-y ‘oh’. He slipped sideways and off the broom, making one last futile attempt to grab hold of the tail – 

He fell to the ground with a sickening crunch, face in the dirt. Madam Hooch hurried over and bent over him, inspecting the damage caused. 

Draco watched as the broomstick drifted lazily out of sight behind the trees of the Forbidden Forest. He wondered fleetingly who they were going to send out there to get it back from the clutches of the fearsome forest. He considered suggesting Potter for the task. Weasley wouldn’t hurt either. 

Madam Hooch turned back to the rest of the class. “None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are, or you’ll be out of Hogwarts before you can say ‘Quidditch’. Come on, dear.” 

Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him. 

No sooner were they out of earshot, Draco burst into laughter. 

“Did you see his face, the great lump?” Draco snickered, the corners of his eyes filling with tears. 

The other Slytherins joined in. 

“Shut up, Malfoy,” snapped Parvati Patil. 

“Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?” Pansy replied with a smirk. “Never thought you’d like fat little cry-babies, Parvati.” 

“Look!” Draco said, darting forward and snatching a see-through ball out of the grass. “It’s that stupid thing Longbottom’s gran sent him.” 

The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up. 

“Give that here, Malfoy,” said Potter quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch. 

Draco smiled nastily. _You want to play Potter? Fine, we will play._

“I think I’ll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find — how about — up a tree?” he said jokingly. 

“Give it here!” Harry yelled, but Draco had leaped onto his broomstick and taken off. He could sense Potter’s shock, and with pride, he straightened his back. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak, he called, “Come and get it, Potter!” 

Harry grabbed his broom. 

“No!” shouted Hermione Granger. “Madam Hooch told us not to move — you’ll get us all into trouble.” 

_Silly girl._ _As if I cared._

Potter ignored her. Blood was pounding in his ears. He mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground, and up, up he soared; air rushed through his hair, and his robes whipped out behind him. Potter pulled his broomstick up a little to make it even higher and heard screams and gasps of girls back on the ground and an admiring whoop from Ron. 

He turned his broomstick sharply to face Draco in mid-air. 

He was stunned by Harry’s confidence when sitting on the broom. _Surely, he couldn’t have practiced before, right?_

“Give it here,” Harry called, “or I’ll knock you off that broom!” 

“Oh, yeah?” said Malfoy, trying to sneer, but with a worried expression on his face. 

His confidence seemingly disappearing as fast as it appeared. 

Potter leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands, and it shot toward Draco like a javelin. He only just got out of the way in time; Harry made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady. A few people below were clapping. 

“No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy,” Harry called. 

The same thought struck Draco as he glanced at his two friends standing below him, observing him with their beady eyes filled with excitement. 

“Catch it if you can, then!” Draco shouted, and he threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground. 

Harry saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air and then start to fall. He leaned forward and pointed his broom handle down — next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball — wind whistled in his ears, mingled with the screams of people watching — he stretched out his hand — a foot from the ground he caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight, and he toppled gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his fist. 

“HARRY POTTER!” 

The color from Harry’s face disappeared as Professor McGonagall was running toward them. He got to his feet, trembling. 

“Never — in all my time at Hogwarts —” Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, “— how dare you — might have broken your neck —” 

“It wasn’t his fault, Professor —” 

“Be quiet, Miss Patil —” 

“But Malfoy —” 

“That’s enough, Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me, now.” 

Harry glanced at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle’s triumphant faces as he left, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall’s wake as she strode toward the castle. 

He was going to be expelled, Malfoy was sure. Harry wanted to say something to defend himself, but there seemed to be something wrong with his voice. Professor McGonagall was sweeping along without even looking at him; he had to jog to keep up. Now he’d done it. He hadn’t even lasted two weeks. He’d be packing his bags in ten minutes. Or so he thought. 

Madam Hooch didn’t return for good 15 minutes, and when she did, she seemed quite distraught. 

“The lesson is over! Everybody can go to their dormitories, but I expect that next time, _nothing_ like this will repeat.” she said with a stern voice as she locked eyes with Draco, who innocently replied: “Of course not.” 

The crowd of children began to disperse, and Draco carefully watched a pair of Gryffindor girls excitedly whisper about Potter and his disappearance. 

“You’re lucky McGonagall didn’t catch you.” a sly female voice behind him whispered. 

Draco turned around to see Pansy, Blaise, and Theodore standing before him. 

“Perhaps, but I would have gotten away with it anyways. Father wouldn’t have let me get expelled.” he explained and headed out to the Slytherin dormitories. 

“Ahh yes, your _father_.” Pansy said and smirked. 

Draco looked her in the eyes and said with a hint of annoyance: “And what’s _that_ supposed to mean?” 

Pansy paused and shrugged her shoulders. “I’ll let you decide.” which earned a giggle from Blaise and Theodore. 

Draco scoffed and fastened his pace. 

“Aww don’t be so upset. It was just childish banter.” Pansy replied, her voice as sweet as honey. 

Crabbe and Goyle discussed something the whole trip to dormitories, but Draco paid no attention to them. Instead, his mind was filled with Harry Potter. 

“Do you think Potter is going to get expelled?” he asked as they made their way down the stairs into the Dungeons. 

“It is very likely. McGonagall seemed furious.” Theodore said, and Blaise nodded. 

Draco was pleased with the response. 

The thought of him being the reason they expelled the Chosen One was almost delightful. 

“Ransgressoribus cave,” Theodore said, and the stone bricks began to rearrange themselves to form an archway. 

Once they entered the empty Common Room, Blaise asked: “Since we have a free afternoon and we still have time before dinner starts, what do you want to do?” 

Pansy jumped on the silver couch in the middle of the room and lazily observed her hands. 

“I have sweets with me my Mother sent me. We could eat those and talk I suppose.” Draco suggested, and Pansy grinned. 

“Sounds good to me.” she replied, and Theo and Blaise agreed. 

“Crabbe, Goyle, go get the sweets. They are under my bed right next to an old black book.” Draco said lazily as he positioned himself on the green leather sofa. 

Blaise observed Crabbe and Goyle, and once they left, he asked with a smirk: “Are they like your bodyguards or what. They don’t seem like they can think for themselves if I’m being honest.” 

Theodore chuckled, and Draco replied: “They’re my childhood friends. There aren’t many pureblood families left, so they were my only friends when I was little. I must admit they come handy in some situations.” 

“You mean most situations. I’ve never seen you without them. _Especially_ whenever you talk to Potter.” Pansy said, and Draco gave her a burning look. 

“I wish-” he said before Crabbe and Goyle came in with multiple bags of Jelly Slugs, Pumpkin pastries, and other sweet delicacies. 

Pansy stood up and took a bag of Jelly Slugs straight from Goyle’s hands and opened them. 

“Hey! These are mine!” Draco exclaimed furiously as he took the other bag of Jelly Slugs. 

“Not anymore blondie.” Pansy smirked and filled her mouth with three Jelly Slugs. 

There started opening a Pumpkin Pastry while Blaise focused his attention on Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans. He toyed with it before a mischievous grin appeared on his face. 

“Does anybody want to play a game?” 

Draco froze and then grinned. “Let’s go.” 

⤝✶⤞

He still had the flavor of the puke flavored Jelly Bean on his tongue, and not even the orange juice could wash it away. Stupid Jelly Beans. _Next time, I won’t pick the brown ones._

He looked across the emptying Great Hall before noticing Potter talking to the Weasley twins with the other Weasley. What’s his name? Ron? 

“Are you coming Malfoy?” Pansy asked, and Draco shook his head. 

First, he had to sort something out with Potter. 

“Go without me, I will join you later.” he replied nonchalantly and stood up. “Crabbe! Goyle! You two go with me.” he added once he saw them leaving with Pansy, Theodore, and Blaise. 

They seemed confused as to why, but then Draco pointed to Potter, and they exchanged their stupid grins. 

Draco made his way through a group of Hufflepuffs before stopping at the Great Hall entrance where Harry stood. 

“Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?” Draco smirked as he gave a nasty glance to Ron. 

“You’re a lot braver now that you’re back on the ground and you’ve got your little friends with you,” said Harry coolly. 

Of course, there was nothing little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and scowl. 

“I’d take you on anytime on my own,” said Malfoy. 

“Tonight, if you want. Wizard’s duel. Wands only — no contact. What’s the matter? Never heard of a wizard’s duel before, I suppose?” 

“Of course, he has,” said Ron, wheeling around. 

_It almost looks like he became Potter’s pet._ He chuckled. _Pathetic._

“I’m his second, who’s yours?” Ron added, challenge in his voice.

Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up. “Crabbe,” he said. “Midnight all right? We’ll meet you in the trophy room; that’s always unlocked.” 

And, without another word, Draco turned on his heel and stalked off down the hallway, a smirk playing across his lips. 

Things were finally getting interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a little longer to make, so sorry for that :). Life has a habit of getting in writing's way.

**Author's Note:**

> Slow updates, so be patient please.


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